Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Look, how tiny down there, look: the last village of words and, higher,
(but how tiny) still one last
farmhouse of feeling. Can you see it?

.
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground
under your hands. Even here, though,
something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge
an unknowing plant blooms, singing, into the air.

.
But the one who knows? Ah, he began to know
and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart.

While, with their full awareness,
many sure-footed mountain animals pass
or linger. And the great sheltered birds flies, slowly
circling, around the peak's pure denial. - But
without a shelter, here on the cliffs of the heart...